The struggle never ends. Not for you. Not for me. The victories come and go, beliefs and claims in a riot of madness and certainty. The hawk is never vanquished, the dove is never pacified. The tale is never told. The extremities burn their own in tantrums and strategy. The soul will sell for a dollar to the paparazzi and the scholar, the orphans and the squalor, a crowd of props and pawns in protests and parades.
Napowrimo 2017: Write about something that happens again and again.